


let’s give them something to talk about

by merrywil



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-29 00:51:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20073427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrywil/pseuds/merrywil
Summary: Five times their friends wondered if Stephen and Wong were together, and one time they knew for sure.





	let’s give them something to talk about

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: Wongrange/Worange/Strong, obviously. Although mostly just fluff, because that’s the extent of my ability to write not-gen. And these two are fluffier than a pile of Golden Retriever puppies. I don’t think there are many people who enjoy this little ship, but hopefully it makes someone out there happy. After this, I believe we’ll be back to your regularly scheduled gen (and plot, oh my!).
> 
> Stephen: Any chance there’s gonna be something in here that teaches me how to project a smile on that pretty face?”
> 
> Wong: You can’t learn that from a book.
> 
> -Doctor Strange: Mystic Apprentice

1)

“Did you have a good birthday, kid?” Hope reached out a hand to ruffle Peter’s hair, and the boy made a noise of good-natured protest.

“Yeah, I really did. It’s been great to have everyone together.” The teenager returned to petting the orange cat curled in his lap, eyes still trained forwards on the movie playing on his aunt's television. 

“Good. That’s what birthdays are all about.” Smiling, she sent a brief glance towards Scott, where he sat at her side on the well-worn loveseat. She felt his arm tighten around her shoulders in response.

From the kitchen, Hope could hear the sound of girlish laughter emanate. She had a feeling that the arrival of a cake was imminent, although she was a little afraid of what form said cake might take. Or how the candles would be lit. Hopefully, May’s kitchen would survive the combination of Scott’s daughter, a Wakandan princess-slash-tech genius, and a superhero who could fly through space and shoot fire out of her hands.

Thoughtfully, Hope turned her gaze towards the other two members of Peter’s birthday celebration. It was a little incongruous seeing Stephen Strange wearing jeans and a T-shirt; even Wong, wearing his typical sorcerer’s robes and sitting on May’s couch, seemed less out of place. Both men had greeted her pleasantly enough, although Stephen had been rather distracted by Carol’s cat.

Stephen was currently sitting cross legged on the floor, leaning back against the sofa. Hope watched as he turned to look briefly at Wong, and appeared to notice the bowl that the other man was holding. For her part, she was impressed that Wong had managed to wrangle dessert from May before the cake was served. Maybe there had been magic involved.

“What flavor is it?” Hope could barely make out Stephen’s quietly asked question over the sounds of the film.

“The new one, with raspberry syrup.”

“Hmm. Any good?” She watched in quiet humor as Stephen eyed the bowl hungrily from his position on the floor.

“Indeed. Here.”

Dipping his spoon into the bowl, Wong balanced on its end a scoop of white ice cream swirled with deep red. Leaving the bowl to sit in his lap, he kept the other hand cradled beneath the utensil to prevent any drops from marring the furniture. He lowered the spoon, and Stephen carefully accepted the offered mouthful.

Stephen hummed, and settled back to watch the movie, leaning partially against the couch and partially against his friend’s leg. “That is good.”

A movement at her side drew her gaze, and Hope realized that she hadn’t been the only one watching the two sorcerers. She rolled her eyes heavenward.

“Scott, if you don’t close your mouth, you’ll catch a fly.” Hope muttered quietly, eyes discreetly focused back on the television.

“I didn’t know they were, well, together.” He hissed, then shook his head. “I don’t believe it. They both seem too serious.”

Men. How could they be so clueless?

She shrugged, listening as the first strains of “Happy Birthday” began to drift from the kitchen. “Of course they’re together. It’s obvious. And I think it’s sweet.” She grinned, giving him a playful nudge as he stared at her incredulously. “Maybe you can try that move with the spoon later, with some cake.”

2)

It had started as monthly consultations on neurology cases of note that passed through the ER. Stephen might no longer be able to hold a scalpel, but his knowledge of neurosurgical technique was still largely unsurpassed in the field. She reaped the benefit of his expertise, and he seemed to draw more than a little satisfaction from putting it to use. 

Christine always brought food, and over time their meetings had evolved to include a leisurely dinner afterwards. It was time that she looked forward to spending with Stephen and often Wong, as well as Stephen’s somewhat mischievous magical garment. 

Today had been no exception. After several hours of animated discussion over her tablet, she and Stephen had emerged from the library. Wong had left them to their own devices, taking a stack of texts with him. But he joined them to lay out the food that Christine had brought, adding a few dishes of his own. 

The Cloak “helped” by setting out plates and cutlery, and pulling out Christine’s chair with a flourish. She laughed at its antics. The conversation flitted from topic to topic, and she found herself relaxing more than she had in some time. Probably more than she had since their last dinner together, if she was honest.

It was during a discussion with Stephen about the merits of teaching philosophy to students of the mystic arts that she noticed Wong frowning at the other man. Well, more specifically at his plate, which she realized Wong had subtly encouraged him to fill at the start of their meal. It wasn’t much emptier now. Stephen had been playing with his food certainly, moving it back and forth, but taking only a mouthful here or there.

Wong’s chair scraped against the floor as he pushed it away from the table. “If you will excuse me, Christine. Please continue. I will be back shortly.”

Stephen must have seen more than he let on, as he followed Wong’s gaze and quietly sighed. “Wong, it’s alright…” But the other man had already vanished down the hallway towards the kitchen, the Cloak following curiously in his wake.

“Hey.” Christine rested her hand gently over Stephen’s faintly tremoring one, where it lay against the table loosely gripping his fork. “Is everything okay? Are your hands acting up?” She looked pointedly at Stephen’s plate, then back up at him.

He gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “Yeah. It really is. I’m just not hungry. It’s a side effect of extensive magic use, at least for some sorcerers. And I’ve been doing more of that recently. Wong is not happy.”

She snorted delicately. “That’s an understatement, if his behavior tonight is anything to go by. Although he’s not wrong, Stephen.”

“I knew you’d take his side.” His tone was surly, but he was grinning and his eyes were sparkling. He really had changed.

Now it was her turn to smile. “Seriously, if there’s anything a mere medical doctor can do to help, let me know.”

“I will. And Christine...thank you.”

A red blur came zooming happily back into the room, and the Cloak wrapped itself affectionately around Stephen’s shoulders. After a moment, Wong came into view, cautiously carrying a steaming bowl, which he placed in front of Stephen. At first, Christine worried that her former colleague might be angry, as he had been with her once upon a time. She held her breath.

But Stephen only stared at the soup for a moment, then gingerly lifted a spoonful to his lips. “What would I do without you, Wong?”

Wong resumed his seat as though nothing had happened. “Probably starve.”

Stephen laughed, and their conversation began to flow again. Although Christine thought she had never seen anyone look so pleased as Wong did when Stephen managed to finish about half of his bowl of soup by the time their evening wound to a close. Not that it was any of her business, but she wondered if the two of them would ever get a clue about each other.

As Christine wrapped her coat around herself and stepped out the front door of the Sanctum, it struck her that perhaps they already had.

3)

“Master Grannus, excuse me. I have a message for Master Wong.” Brigid Grannus tilted her head in acquiescence, as the novice spoke quietly but urgently to her companion. They had been discussing the curriculum for an advanced first aid course for disciples. Wong had promised to help secure texts from the London and New York Sanctums that might be of benefit to their studies.

Out of respect, Brigid did not pay close attention to Wong’s brief interaction with the novice, but she noted with alarm when the other master stiffened, his face darkening. “Wong? Is everything alright?”

He looked at her as if he had forgotten her presence, a highly unusual lapse. Shaking his head as though to clear it, he apologized. “I am sorry, Brigid. Can we continue our conversation another time? Stephen has returned, but he is injured. I must go.”

She caught his sleeve. “Let me help. I’m here already, and it will be faster than sending for another healer if you need one. Together, you and I should be able to deal with most anything.”

“Thank you.” Wong inclined his head gratefully.

Quickly, they followed the young initiate through Kamar-Taj’s hallways, reaching a small study room off of the Narthex in short order. The room was largely barren save for a woven throw rug, a large window, and a wooden bench against one stone wall. 

Stephen Strange was seated on the floor propped up against said bench. He was bleeding sluggishly from a large gash on his forehead, and his robes were torn in several places. Brigid wasn’t sure if any of the liquid soaking his robes was also blood, as he seemed to have been splattered with some sort of inky blue substance. He was awake, but did not seem to entirely track their entrance into the small room.

With a muttered curse, Wong went down onto one knee besides his colleague. “Stephen?”

The other man hummed, and squinted in some confusion as Wong’s hand settled gently on his shoulder. Then he seemed to relax into his friend's touch.

“Hey, Wong. Ran into a little trouble.”

“I can see that. Master Grannus is here to help.”

“Okay.” Stephen was almost childishly compliant, but she supposed it was better than the belligerence that some patients showed when disoriented. Brigid settled carefully to Stephen’s other side, her hands moving in complicated patterns to first scan for injuries and then cleanse the foreign substance saturating Strange’s robes.

She looked up at Wong. “He’s lucky. I think the liquid was having a soporific effect, and that plus the head trauma made him pretty out of it. I’ll need to heal the concussion and other injuries, but he should be back to normal within a day or so with some rest. Do you mind assisting?”

“Take what you need.” Wong was not a healer, but having another’s energy to draw on during a procedure was always a boon to both healer and patient. With Wong’s help, Brigid made short work of her task. Satisfied, she rocked back on her heels, letting the glyphs fade from the air.

“He needs to be in bed.” She nodded at Stephen, who was now lost in a recuperative sleep, still slumped against the bench.

“I’ll take care of it. Thank you, again.” Wong spun open a portal that led to a bedchamber not present in Kamar-Taj. With the utmost gentleness, he lifted the other man in his arms as he would a child. Strange was taller by a couple of inches, but far more slightly built. He mumbled in his sleep, and seemed to burrow his face more closely against Wong’s shoulder.

Brigid watched as Wong turned with his burden and disappeared into the portal, sparks falling to the floor as it snapped closed behind him. She wasn’t quite certain what to make of the entire encounter, but it was hardly her place to comment on the other sorcerers’ relationship. 

Of one thing she did feel certain. Stephen Strange was a very fortunate man.

4)

Like most small communities, news travelled fast in Kamar-Taj. The news for today was that the Narthex should be avoided at all costs. Or more specifically, that the librarian should be.

Master Wong could be an imposing figure at the best of times, especially for the newer initiates. Most eventually came to realize that he was largely bark and little bite, at least when it came his fellow sorcerers (not so much their enemies). But when he came storming through the compound like he was under his own personal thundercloud, stopping only to cough and then sneeze harshly into a kerchief, even his friends knew to keep their distance.

In the courtyard outside of the Narthex, practice was subdued. The students sparred and rehearsed their spells almost silently, as if concerned that any noise might bring forth a vengeful bear from its hibernation. A few intrepid souls with study plans for the day were gathered outside the library doors, holding a hushed discussion about the risk of entering.

So when Stephen came striding into the quadrangle, Cloak flaring behind him like a battle pennant and being anything but quiet, those present held their respective breaths. The Sanctum Master looked tired (Kamar-Taj and New York were on very different schedules, after all), and as if he had very little forbearance left.

“Where is he?”

One of the apprentices by the Narthex door raised a hesitant hand, pointing towards the library. “But Master Strange, I wouldn’t go in there, if I were you!”

The look that Stephen sent the young man was distinctly unimpressed. The door opened with a flick of his wrist, and he disappeared inside, his Cloak sweeping behind him. In his wake, an expectant silence fell over the courtyard. 

Certainly, Stephen Strange had defeated Dormammu. He was viewed by many as a likely candidate for their future Sorcerer Supreme. But Wong was a powerful sorcerer in his own right. And he had not looked like he was in the mood for being disturbed.

The library’s open door loomed silently. Above the Narthex, a pair of swallows dipped and spun in flight. Then the Cloak of Levitation came careening to hover eagerly just outside the ancient stone building. Murmurs of whispered speculation sprung up, as increasingly fanciful suggestions were tossed about for the relic’s sudden reappearance and the absence of its chosen.

Those murmurs cut off again as two figures emerged from the doorway, one following the other. Stephen had a hand wrapped loosely around Wong’s wrist, and was leading a very compliant and perhaps not entirely awake librarian. Wong looked particularly miserable, sniffling and blinking heavy eyelids. With a flutter, the Cloak swooped over to settle on his shoulders, for once forgoing its usual perch and wrapping around the slightly shorter man affectionately.

Stephen paused, dropping Wong’s wrist only to spin open a portal leading to the New York Sanctum. With a steely glare, he scanned the courtyard, intentionally making eye contact with its occupants.

“No one is to bother Master Wong for the next 72 hours. No urgent research requests, no last-minute missions, nothing. Understood?”

There was an immediate susurrus of agreement from the gathered students and disciples. “Good. Carry on.”

The Cloak waved jauntily at them from Wong’s shoulders as the three vanished into the portal. The rumor mill whirred happily for the rest of the day, but one lesson was abundantly clear: no one messed with Stephen Strange’s librarian.

5)

Gamora stalked silently down the Benetar’s corridor, listening to the comforting hum of the ship’s engines. In the past, she had most enjoyed the adrenaline that built before a battle. Now, she had come to appreciate the quiet lull that followed it, and even more the knowledge that her friends (family?) had weathered yet another trial. Perhaps not always unbattered, but at least unbroken.

Perpetually alert to that which was out of the ordinary, she paused before the door to what was usually Thor’s room. It was ajar, although the room itself was only dimly lit. Nor was the Asguardian present, as he had relinquished his room to their guests.

Well, perhaps guests wasn’t the right word, as they were aboard with a more serious purpose. The Guardians had been called on to confront a malicious force that had been raiding children from the settlements of an outlying colony planet. Thor hadn’t had a solution himself, but he’d taken one look at the rune-covered altar outside one settlement and concluded that magic was involved. He also told Peter that he knew someone who could help them.

Gamora had seen enough of the Universe to find the unusual no longer unusual. The sorcerers--Stephen and Wong, they had asked to be called--were polite and (more importantly) largely kept to themselves. They were also helpful. There had been a few questionable moments, but the children had been retrieved and the demonic entity feasting on their life force successfully banished.

When they had returned to the Benetar, Stephen had healed Drax’s fractured right arm, and both sorcerers had courteously bid the Guardians good night as the ship set its course for Earth. Gamora had a feeling that they could have simply created one of those fiery circles to speed up their journey, but maybe even magic users needed to rest.

Which was what she found them doing now, deep in the heart of the ship’s night. Wong was on his back, his side pressed against the cabin wall and fingers laced across his sternum. The bunk, like most things on a space-faring vessel, was compact to say the least. Stephen was also on his back, but one upturned hand rested on Wong’s chest, and his head was pillowed on the other man’s shoulder.

Suddenly, Gamora realized that she was not the only one who was watching. Stephen’s eyes glittered in the soft light like a cat’s, barely visible beneath his partially lowered lids. He hadn’t moved, but Gamora was filled with a sense of fierce protectiveness lying dormant, but vigilantly so. Once, visiting Wezen, she had stumbled upon the den of a dire wolf and its mate; she felt little difference between that moment and this.

Slowly, she raised one hand in a universal gesture of goodwill. The sorcerer blinked, languidly, the sense of threat falling away as his eyes slipped closed. Gamora watched for a moment more, then turned back to the corridor.

And nearly ran into Peter, who had been standing behind her. She growled, softly so as not to disturb their visitors, and prodded him down the corridor despite his quiet protests.

“Hey, hey! Take it easy! And watch where you point that finger!”

“Shhh. You will wake them.” She waited until they had reached the main living space to speak more normally.

“I don’t know why they have to share. I mean, it’s nice that they didn’t want to take up more space, but we could have rotated sleeping quarters.”

Gamora liked Peter Quill very much, but some days she had to wonder if he’d rolled down the stairs too often as a babe, as her mother’s mother used to say. “Peter, I do not think that they mind sharing.”

“Huh?” Yes, definitely too many stairs; perhaps Earth residences had an abundance of them.

“Oh, for stars’ sake, Quill. She means they’re shacking up.” Rocket grumbled as he wandered into the small galley, the fur on his head tousled with sleep.

“What!? No way.” Peter paused for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration. “Hmm. Okay, yeah, I guess I can see that.”

“Wanna go send a remote-controlled mini-camera into their room and spy on them?”

“Ugh, eww, no! Also, what are you doing with a remote-controlled camera? Have you been spying on us?”

“I would totally never do that to you, Quill.”

Gamora allowed herself a brief eyeroll, as she quietly took her leave of the kitchen and the growing ruckus behind her. Maybe she could catch a few hours of sleep. She paused only momentarily as she passed the sorcerers’ room, then continued quietly onwards. At the end of the day, it was good to have family to come home to.

\--

+1) ...and one time they didn’t have to.

“Hold her steady, Wong. I just need to get close enough to deliver the sedative.” The sorcerer’s only reply was a grunt of affirmation, as he held the glowing crimson bands of eldritch magic around their quarry.

Quarry, and friend. Who was currently possessed by some sort of parasitic alien entity, that had been wreaking havoc across New York City for the better part of an otherwise lovely fall afternoon. Wielding the abilities of some of the most powerful beings in the world, as it jumped from body to body, turned out to be a particularly effective way of causing quite a lot of chaos.

Wanda screamed with an inhuman wail as she was held in place, and Sam inched closer, syringe poised in hand. Then suddenly, she went slack, and the fiery ropes fell from her form.

“Nice one, Cap!” Scott’s voice echoed over the coms, but Sam shook his head in consternation, staring at the still loaded syringe.

“Uh folks, that wasn’t me.”

The megalomaniacal laughter was really kind of creepy. Sam was starting to understand its appeal, if you were of the villainous persuasion, but he was also rapidly tiring of it. As he helped Wanda sit up, he felt the earth next to him shudder with the force of Scott’s landing. Hope hovered in the air next to Scott, wings beating furiously, while Peter alighted much more quietly to Sam’s other side.

“Oh boy. Don’t tell him I said this, but evil Wong pulls off the evil look really well.” Joking aside, Scott didn’t sound terribly confident, and Sam could empathize. They hardly understood the extent of the sorcerers’ powers, but he hadn’t forgotten the immediate aftermath of the Return. He had a feeling that for unenhanced humans without suits, Wong or Strange could do an incomprehensible amount of damage if they were so inclined.

Speaking of Stephen, Sam spoke into the coms, trying to maintain an air of assurance. “Does anybody know where Strange is?” He kept his eyes trained on Wong--well, the alien entity inhabiting Wong’s body--who was now admiring the twin mandalas of energy that it had conjured.

“He was removing Wanda’s--err, the alien’s--mind control from the civilians who were attempting to jump into the Hudson.” Wanda winced; that was a sore subject.

“Well, if anyone sees him, tell him to join us, ASAP.” With a dark cackle, the Wong-imposter pointed one of the mandalas at a partially destroyed storefront, and sent off an energy blast that levelled the remaining structure to its foundations.

“Heads up, Cap. No need.”

Landing smoothly with the Cloak’s aid, Stephen strode forwards past the gathered Avengers, red fabric still flaring behind him. When he addressed the entity inhabiting his friend, his voice cut like polished steel.

“I will give you one chance. Let him go and begone, and I will not pursue to hold you accountable for your wrongs in this dimension.”

Wong cocked his head, a jagged sneer lifting the corner of his mouth. “Ah. Sorcerer. You care about him, don’t you? My host. And,” the  _ thing  _ had the audacity to laugh, eyes lighting in nefarious delight. “He cares about you. Very much.”

Stephen grimaced, as though the imposter’s words filled his mouth with a bad taste. Seeing this, his foe laughed again, low and grating. Conjuring a sword that dripped orange flames from its blade, it advanced towards the sorcerer, saber levelled at Stephen’s heart.

“Before I raze this city, should I have him hurt you first? Or better yet,” the blade swept away from Stephen, and came with unerring precision to rest against Wong’s chest. “Have him deal himself a killing blow, so he can expire in the street like a mangy dog while I use your body to finish this job?”

Sam shuddered in disgust. The creature treated them no better than playthings, to be cruelly tormented and then cast aside. It was a sated cat toying with its prey, and they the unfortunate mice. He watched as Stephen stood his ground, unflinching. The man’s gaze hardened, eyes as flat and unemotional as granite.

“Neither.” Stephen’s voice was cold, as he let his hands fall to his sides, palms open in supplication. “You have made a grave mistake. I gave you the opportunity to leave, but instead you threatened what is *mine*.” 

His voice descended into a possessive growl. “You will never have that opportunity again.”

Fiery purple magic snapped and crackled, racing from the ground to Stephen’s hands and climbing up his arms in violet tendrils. A wind rose, and the clouds above them began to roil. To the east and west, the street lit with incorporeal flames as far as the eye could see.

“Oh no.” Sam heard Wanda whisper, her voice filled with awe and not a little terror. “That’s a ley line he’s tapping into.”

Stephen’s eyes were glowing as well, twin wellsprings of ancient magic. With a cry, he raised both hands. The power flew towards Wong, and the parasite who controlled him. Through the nearly blinding light, Sam could hear an unearthly screeching. 

For a moment, a shadow seemed to form within the painfully bright radiance. Then a ragged rift opened, showing only the darkness of space beyond it. Light and shadow disappeared within the rift, and were just as suddenly gone. Silence fell.

Sam could hear his own ragged breathing, and the sound of sirens in the distance. Beside him, Scott spoke almost reverently. “Holy cow. Remind me never to get him mad.”

The sorcerers stood frozen in the middle of the street. Breaking the tableau, Stephen stepped forwards, rapidly closing the distance between them. He paused for a moment, then reached up to take his friend’s face in two gently tremoring hands.

“Wong?”

“Stephen?” Wong sounded not a little confused as to what was going on, for which Sam could hardly blame him. It was an understandable response to being possessed by an evil alien and then exorcised by your co-worker.

Co-worker? Friend? Life partner? Sam still wasn’t sure as to exactly the relationship between the two. Although he had a feeling he was about to find out.

“Uh, are they gonna…? Oh geez. Peter, cover your eyes.” Scott shot a hand out to do just that. “Come on, guys, get a room. There are kids present.”

“Aww, come on, Mr. Lang, let me see!” The kid was attempting (without using his full strength, obviously), to peer over Scott’s impromptu blindfold.

Smoke and ash drifted on the air. They had hours of searching and clean-up to look forward to, identifying unsafe structures and clearing the area of any overlooked civilians. But Hope’s laughter was like music to Sam’s soul.

“I told you, Scott. And I stand by what I said. It is sweet.”

And Sam, for one, had to agree. For today at least, they had won. And there was nothing quite like a happy ending.

FINIS

  
  
  
  



End file.
